


Code Scarlet

by Shorina



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Comedy, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 08:34:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11376510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shorina/pseuds/Shorina
Summary: One very rare condition, two important passengers and three men who need to save the day - and possibly their jobs as well.





	Code Scarlet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dryad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dryad/gifts).



Post-take-off-checks complete, Douglas half-turned in his seat to look at his Captain. “So, Martin. What did you choose?”

In fact Martin had totally forgotten about any choice he was supposed to make. He was flying! That always took priority over everything else. “Uhm...” he looked around for inspiration – and found it looking out of the window. “Red!”

Douglas followed Martin's gaze. “A very inspired choice, Sir. Red it is.” He leaned back in his seat, thought for a moment, then reached for the microphone and turned on the cabin address.

_Bing bong!_

“Ladies and gentlemen, we welcome you aboard this MJN Air flight from red-hot Jeddah to Nice, which, though located on the Côte d'Azur, you will be able to enjoy bathed in the burgundy light of sunset in about seven hours. Until then, please let me draw your attention to some of the sights along our route today: If you look out of the port-side window across the ultra-left-wing just now, you can marvel at the beauty of the Red Sea, which refuses to offer so much as a touch of coral hue in its vast blue mass today. After a brief first visit to the Mediterranean, we will cross the Balkan States, which will immediately have those of you interested in international cuisine thinking about paprika and eggplant. Later, we will be crossing Italy, land of the Rosso Corsa made famous by Ferrari in Formula One and – not to forget – pasta with tomato-sauce. As our onboard entertainment, we wanted to bring you 'The Man with One Red Shoe”, but – and I'm glad you don't have to see us blush – had to settle for 'The Man Who Knew Too Little'. Please accept our sincere apologies.”

Martin tried to count all the references to red Douglas had managed to squeeze into his address. “Ten?”

“Thirteen, though you might have to squint hard to catch one or two of them,” Douglas admitted.

“Still, that's –“

Martin was interrupted by a scream that was clearly audible through the closed flight-deck-door.

Both pilots turned in their seats, staring first at the closed door, then at each other. Before they could utter a word, another scream reached their ears.

Douglas was the first to snap out it and reached for the intercom. “Arthur! What on earth is going on back there?”

He didn't get a reply, which had Martin's breath quicken even more than the screams had.

“Right, we– uhm, we need to identify the emergency on board.” He checked G-ERTY's displays, but everything seemed fine there. Well, as fine as things could be on this particular plane. “No damage reported, no smoke alarm...”

“One of us will have to check.” Douglas made to unbuckle, but Martin stopped him.

“What if someone's got a weapon back there?”

“Martin, do you really want to suggest someone is trying to hijack a shabby old charter plane with all of two passengers on board?”

“They're rich passengers.”

“Yes, and aside from the two already rich passengers there's no one but Arthur back there in the cabin. Chances are, it's a medical emergency, in which case we'll have to act quickly.”

“Yes. You're right. Of course. I –“ Martin swallowed hard, then started to unbuckle himself, “I'll go and check what's going on.”

He climbed out of his seat, but before he had a chance to open the door, more screaming, or rather more of a wailing, reached his ears. He shuddered, forced himself to take a deep breath, and opened the door.

No one jumped at him. In fact no one was there; the small galley was deserted. “Arthur?” He realised he'd have to shout to be heard over the wailing, so he tried to steel himself for what he was about to find beyond the curtain and pushed through.

What he found was Arthur with one of the blankets they carried for the passengers, trying to shove it at a wailing and flailing woman across the top of the seat in front of her, while a man was frantically pulling at the blanket from the seat next to Arthur, hissing incomprehensible things at him.

Martin cleared his throat. “What's going on here?”

This time Arthur noticed him and half turned, which gave the man at his side the upper hand in their tug-of-war and he pulled the blanket out of Arthur's hands, nearly falling backwards out of the seat he was kneeling on when he suddenly met no more resistance.

“Skip!”

Martin had stopped just beyond the galley-curtain and stared at the scene in disbelief.

“What on earth are you doing back here? Is someone hurt?”

“I don't think so, though Mrs Faulkner nearly gave me a black eye when I tried to wrap her in the blanket.”

Meanwhile the man had recovered his balance and was trying to hide the blanket by shoving it under the seat. The woman's wailing slowly eased off, though Martin didn't know why. Maybe it was just a need for air that caused the gaps. At least it gave him the confidence to approach.

“Madam, I'm the Captain. Is there anything I can do for you?”

She took one look at Martin and started screaming again in terror.

The man seemed to notice him for the first time now. “For heaven's sake, go away! You're making it worse, can't you see?”

“ _I'm_ making it worse? But I'm here to help! Arthur, please fetch the lady a drink.”

“Right-o! Brilliant idea, Skip! I'll get her a tomato-juice. Everyone loves tomato-juice when flying!”

“Nooooo!” the man screamed and grabbed a handful of Arthur's uniform waistcoat. The woman in the next row groaned and hid her face in her hands.

Arthur patted the man's hand. “No problem, I'll bring one for you, too. There's plenty left!”

“Not... _that_!” The man begged while reaching for Arthur with both hands now. “Not _that_!”

Martin pulled himself up to his full yet meagre height. “Sir, I need you to let go of our flight-attendant immediately.” He was ignored, so he decided to do something about it. He, in turn, reached for the man and tried to pull him away from Arthur. For a moment they swung back and forth and Martin's hat slid off his head.

“So that's how you check what's going on, Martin?” Douglas' voice betrayed the mocking words as his concern was audible.

Momentarily distracted, Martin let go of the passenger, which caused him to fall forward and wedge Arthur between himself and the hull of the plane.

“Oooph,” Arthur sounded a little winded.

“Would you mind landing me a hand here, Douglas?” Martin reached for the passenger again, this time to give Arthur some space to breathe.

“Certainly, Captain.” Douglas stepped closer and politely but firmly pulled the passenger off Arthur. “Arthur?”

Arthur waved at him, still catching his breath.

The passenger slumped in the seat next to Arthur, a sorrowful expression on his face. “Oh dear,” he muttered.

As the rush of adrenaline wore off, Martin's brain returned to his favourite topic: flying. He looked at Douglas, then through the open curtain and open flight-deck-door right out into the sky.

“Douglas! You left the flight-deck empty!”

Now the passenger looked up, fresh alarm in his eyes. “No one is flying the plane?!”

“Otto is piloting us.”

“Wow,” Arthur said, by now recovered and sounding as cheerful as ever. “Who's Otto?”

“Otto the autopilot. Have you never watched _Airplane!_ , Arthur?” Douglas didn't wait for an answer. “But maybe you'll take over again, Captain, and let me take a stab at finding out what's going on?”

The woman slowly lowered her hands, but with a stifled yelp returned them to her face when she spotted Martin still standing there.

“Uhm, yes. If you'd please clear up this situation, Douglas. I'll be... piloting us to Nice.” He retreated, closing the curtain behind him.

Arthur, by now breathing regularly again, seemed fairly unfazed by the events. “You know, this whole thing has made even _me_ thirsty. I think I'll make that three tomato-juices. Or do you want one as well, Douglas? As I told Mr Faulkner here, there's plenty left.”

A sob sounded from the next row and the passenger only shook his head and groaned.

“How about you make some tea instead, Arthur?”

“But you don't drink tea, Douglas, you're a coffee man.”

“So I am, but our passengers don't seem overly fond of juice.”

Mr Faulkner offered him a weak but thankful smile.

“They haven't even tried it, I'm sure they'd love it if...”

“ _Tea_ , Arthur.”

“Right-o.”

Once Arthur had gone, Douglas took a deep breath and assessed the situation. Mrs Faulkner had stopped screaming – though he still didn't know why she had done so in the first place – and lowered her shaking hands to her lap. Mr Faulkner sat slumped in the aisle seat of the first row.

“Mr Faulkner?”

He looked up at Douglas.

Douglas lowered his voice. “Why did your wife start screaming?”

Fire lit up in Mr Faulkner's eyes as he considered the question. He now recognised Douglas' voice from the cabin address.

“Because of _your_ nice little speech earlier on.”

Douglas frowned. “There was nothing scary about my address.”

“There was plenty of it, if you suffer from erythrophobia.”

“Wow,” Arthur chimed in, sticking his head around the galley-curtain. “What is erytofo...?” He looked at Douglas expectantly, but the First Officer looked at Mr Faulkner in return.

“It's the fear of … a certain colour.”

“Oh yes, some things are a ghastly colour. I've never quite understood what ghastly looks like, but it sure sounds unpleasant.”

“Arthur, was there something you wanted?”

“Oh yes. Sugar and milk for the tea?”

“Both,” Douglas decided without checking with the passengers.

“Coming right up!”

Douglas returned his focus to Mr Faulkner. “Your wife fears the colour... I mentioned in my cabin address?”

Mr Faulkner balled his hands into fists. “She does.”

“That explains a lot.”

“And then your steward shoved this,” he pointed down to where the blanket was sticking out from under the seat, “blanket at her.”

“Yes, I see. And then the Captain showed up.”

“Exactly.”

“Tea is ready!” Arthur announced as he balanced two cups on a tray. “Well, not quite, it's still steeping, but I thought everyone likes their tea different, so here it is.”

He moved past Douglas to hand a cup to Mrs Faulkner who had calmed down enough to only be wringing her hands in her lap. One look at the offered cup made her scream again, though. Her hands flew up in panic and she knocked the cup from Arthur's hands, drenching both of them in hot tea. The cup shattered on the ground.

“Oh, I'm so sorry I spooked you, here take this one. I'll make a fresh one for your husband.”

Douglas registered the colour Arthur's shirt had turned and pulled him away before he could push the second cup of tea at Mrs Faulkner. “Arthur, what kind of tea did you make?”

“Rose hip.” 

Another small yelp emerged from the second row.

“Good God.”

“I should get some napkins. And maybe another blanket. Mrs Faulkner will get cold when the tea cools off.”

Aware that both the napkins and blankets on board were red, Douglas knew he had to stop Arthur. But he could tell Arthur was in one of his helpful moods. What was it Carolyn said to stop him?

“Arthur?”

“Yes, Douglas?”

“Code Re... Scarlet,” he hissed.

Arthur looked at him, baffled. “ _Scarlet?!_ ” Of course Arthur didn't lower his voice the way Douglas had done. Another sniffle sounded from Mrs Faulkner.

“Yes. You know. The colour.”

“No.”

“What no?”

“I don't know the colour. Is it like ghastly?”

“Yes, at least it is if you're Mrs Faulkner.”

“Wow, it's different for everyone? Brilliant!”

“Arthur? Go to the galley and... stay there.”

“But Mrs Faulkner...”

“Exactly.”

“She's all wet!”

“I'll take care of it.”

“But – isn't that my job?”

“Your job is to do what the pilots say. And I say go to the galley and stay there.”

Arthur still looked confused, but then smiled brightly. “Oh, this is like 'Simon Says', only we're playing 'The Pilot Says'!”

“Exactly. And the pilot says: Arthur, go to the galley and stay there.”

“Will do, Douglas.”

Douglas let out a sigh of relief once Arthur had vanished.

“I'm terribly sorry. Is there anything I can do for you – aside from fetching some white paper towels for you, Mrs Faulkner?”

“A glass of water,” Mr Faulkner replied for his wife.

“Coming right up.”

Douglas quickly returned with some paper towels and the requested water. He hesitated at row two and then handed the items to Mr Faulkner. “It might be best if you helped her.”

“Indeed.”

“Is there anything else you need?”

“Just some peace.”

“Certainly.”

Douglas found Arthur in the galley, dabbing at his shirt with a napkin. He considered the situation for a moment.

“Arthur?”

“Hm?” The younger man looked up from his failing attempts to remove the red stains from his shirt.

“Coffee.”

“No can do, Douglas?”

“And why n...” He broke off as realisation dawned. “The pilot says: Arthur, coffee for the pilots, please.”

Arthur grinned widely. “Coffee for you and Skip. Sure!”

“Good. And Arthur? The pilot says: Don't go into the cabin.” Douglas reached for the cockpit door.

“Uhm, will you fetch the coffee Douglas?”

“Why on earth would I do that?”

“The pilot said I was to stay in the galley.”

“The pilot's request for coffee included the request for delivery to the flight-deck.”

“Oh, good.”

With a sigh, Douglas entered the cockpit and slid into his seat beside Martin, who looked at him with a mix of fear, worry and curiosity.

“So?”

“Everyone's calmed down and I forbade Arthur to go into the cabin.”

“So no need for a diversion?” Douglas shook his head, so Martin continued. “Good. But, it's a long flight. Who's going to serve the passengers?”

“I'm still working on that.”

“Why did you forbid Arthur to go into the cabin in the first place?”

“He was in one of his _helpful_ moods.”

“Being anything but helpful.”

“Exactly.”

Douglas gave Martin a brief summary of the events and Mrs Faulkner's rare phobia.

“Oh dear. Your cabin address...”

“Yes.”

“Red.”

“Yes.”

“But – we couldn't know, could we?”

“I don't think so. There was no clue on the manifest that I saw.”

“No, me neither.” After a brief pause, Martin continued. “Obviously Mr Alyakhin is at fault here for not providing such important information?”

“I'm not 100% convinced _he'll_ see it that way.”

“Oh dear.”

The door opened and Arthur stepped in. “Coffee, chaps!”

“Argh, Arthur! You startled me,” Martin complained.

“Sorry, Skip, but the pilot said I was to deliver the coffee. So, here I am. With coffee.”

“The pilot said...?” He looked at Douglas for further enlightenment, but none was provided. Instead Arthur handed them their coffees.

“Thank you, Arthur. Now. The pilot says: Arthur, take off your shirt.”

“Douglas?!” Martin exclaimed in shock.

“Ah, so I can rinse it more easily? Great idea, Douglas.”

“No, it's a horrible idea. We can't have a bare-chested steward on board and he'll catch a cold if he wears a soaking wet shirt. That one already looks too wet!”

“Indeed. But if you'd have let me finish...”

Martin sighed but waved a hand for Douglas to continue.

“Thank you. Arthur: The pilot says: Take off your shirt and put on my spare shirt from my pilot's case.”

“Oh.”

“Not sure it'll fit...” Arthur mumbled into his shirt as he pulled it off over his head.

“Arthur, what do you think buttons are for?”

“Oh, you can make nice button-pictures with them. We did that once in school,” Arthur enthused while he tried to disentangle his arms from the sleeves.

“I should have made him take _your_ spare shirt,” Douglas sighed, watching Arthur undress.

By the time Arthur had changed into Douglas' shirt, the First Officer had planned a little further ahead.

“Arthur? You know the colour red?”

“Sure, Douglas, why?”

“What all is red?”

“Oh. Lips. Hearts. Cherries. Fire-engines. That little warning light...”

“That what?” Martin whirled around to study the instruments. He found the offending light and, from prior experience, tapped at it. It went off and he let out a sigh of relief. “All clear.”

“Good. What else, Arthur?” Douglas continued.

Arthur looked around, searching for more examples, but couldn't find any.

“Our napkins and blankets. Rose hip tea. Tomato-juice. The stains on your shirt. Martin's hair,” Douglas listed.

“No, that's carrotty, I'm certain I heard mum call it that.”

“Do you know what a shade is?”

Arthur promptly aligned his hands to cast the shadow of a dog's head on the cockpit door. “Woof, woof.”

“Not a shadow, Arthur. A shade. A shade of a colour.”

“Oh that.”

“Yes, that. What shades of red do you know?”

“Uhm... red-dish?”

“And?” Douglas nodded towards Martin.

Arthur looked closely at Martin, but didn't get it.

“Carrotty, as you called it, is a shade of red. Also cherry, ruby, cardinal, carmine, coral, rose, crimson, auburn, burgundy and, I'm sure this will surprise you, Arthur, scarlet.”

“Scarlet? No. Really? Oh... you should have said, Douglas!”

“He should have said what?”

“You are aware of Carolyn's code to steer Arthur away when he's being too helpful?”

“Code red,” Martin promptly replied.

“Now, given our situation I could hardly phrase it that way, could I?”

“No,” Martin said slowly.

“So instead I called it 'Code Scarlet'. Only our dork here had no clue that scarlet is a shade of red and thus didn't get my meaning at all. Which has led to us now playing 'The Pilot Says'.”

“Are shades of red safe, though?”

“No, I don't think they are, at least not totally. Which brings me back to my earlier line of questioning. Arthur, have you paid attention to what I told you?”

“Yes, you said I'm a dork,” Arthur said, sadness in his voice.

“Well, yes, you are. But I meant about red things on board and shades of red.”

“Yes. I think.”

“I hope. Now: The pilot says: Arthur, don't take any red items or items coloured a shade of red into the cabin, nor mention them in the cabin.”

“Oh, that's a tough one. Though – no, it isn't. I'm not allowed in the cabin anyway.”

“It is a tough one, for: The pilot says: Arthur, resume your duties on board, but remember, under all circumstances, the previous order.”

Martin feared smoke would be coming out of Arthur's ears any moment, he seemed to be concentrating so hard. But the moment passed and Arthur cheered up again.

“Got it.”

“Are you sure? What are you not allowed to do?” Martin queried.

“I'm not allowed to have a pet spider.”

“What?!”

“Oh, sorry Skip, wrong one. That's one of mum's. I'm not to bring any red items into the cabin or mention them in the cabin.”

“And neither items the shade of red,” Martin added adamantly.

“Okay. Just one question: Is juice an item?”

“Forget about items. Not anything red or a shade of red.”

“Right. Got it.” With that, Arthur retreated.

“Do you think it's safe to allow him into the cabin, Douglas?”

“I think it's a gamble we'll have to take. As you rightly pointed out: It's a long flight.”

~ * ~ * ~

_Ding Dong_

“Company channel. That must be Carolyn,” Martin nervously stated and reached to accept the incoming call. Douglas' hand stopped him.

“Leave her to me.”

“But, won't she expect me to answer?”

“Just leave it to me.”

Martin sighed but leaned back in his seat, and Douglas took the call.

“Carolyn, what a surprise to hear from you.”

“Is it really? You're flying important passengers and I can't be on board to keep an eye on you.”

“So instead you've decided to keep an ear on us?” Douglas suggested smoothly.

“Where's Martin?”

Before Martin could reply, Douglas did. “Stepped out for little pilots. You'll have to make do with me.”

“Oh well, that can't be helped. So, how is the flight? Are our passengers happy?”

“As happy as can be expected.”

“What's that supposed to mean? It's a simple yes or no question.”

“Arthur should be serving them their meal right now, if that's a more satisfying answer to your question.”

“You did check his catering order?”

“I did.”

“And was it correct?”

“It was when he sent it off.”

“I see. Well done.”

“Pleasure. Was there anything else, Carolyn?”

“You seem rather keen on being rid of me.”

“Oh, you know, I'm alone in the flight deck, I thought you'd prefer if my attention was undivided and focused on getting our passengers safely from A to B. Or from J to N, considering today's route.”

“Yes, yes, alright. I'll see you when you land in Nice.”

“What?!” Martin burst out.

“Ah, Martin, there you are,” Douglas quickly covered up. “But it _is_ a good question. Why will you be in Nice? I thought you'd stayed in Fitton.”

“Change of plans.” Carolyn simply stated.

“Obviously. Well, in that case we'll be seeing you in a bit.” Douglas ended the call before Carolyn could say anything else.

“She'll talk to our passengers upon arrival, won't she?”

“I fear she might.”

“They'll complain to her.”

“They might complain to Mr. Alyakhin.”

Martin groaned. “That'd be even worse.”

“Might be the same end result for us either way 'round.”

“How do you mean?”

“If the Faulkners complain directly to Carolyn, she'll bite our heads off. If they complain to Mr. Alyakhin, he'll either complain to Carolyn or simply cancel the contract. In either case, Carolyn is going to bite our heads off.”

Martin chewed on the thought for a moment.

“So, what's your plan?”

“My plan?”

“Yes, surely you have a plan.”

“Not really.”

“But – you always have a plan.”

“True. Well, it's still some time until we land.”

“Anyone want a refill?” Arthur stuck his head round the door, once again startling Martin.

“Gosh, Arthur. Next time knock before you enter!”

“Sorry, Skip. Can't do.”

“What? Why can't you knock?!”

“The Pilot Says: Arthur, next time knock on the flight-deck door before you enter,” Douglas helped.

“Sure. And sorry for startling you, Skip. Again.”

“Yes, it's fine. I guess I'm a little jumpy today.”

“It's not the word I'd have chosen,” Arthur replied.

“And which one would you have chosen, Arthur?” Douglas looked at him over his shoulder.

“Gloomy. Definitely. You, too, Douglas. Wow. That's rare.”

“Well, yes, the prospect of losing Mr. Alyakhin's passengers is not a pleasant one.”

“Lose them? How would we lose them? I mean, we're doing a lot of things to passengers, but we've never lost any, have we?”

“Future passengers, Arthur. After today's fiasco, Mr. Alyakhin will certainly not trust us to fly any more of his customers.”

“Won't he? But this is the most entertaining flight in a long time!”

“I doubt the Faulkners will see it that way, Arthur.”

“I'll ask them, shall I?”

“That's! It!”

“Is it? Oh, good. What exactly is it?”

“The solution to our problem. Martin, give me your clipboard.”

“What? Why?”

“We'll conduct a passenger survey directly after landing.”

Martin looked at him blankly, while he reached for his clipboard.

“Arthur, you might just have saved all our jobs.”

“Brilliant.”

Martin handed over his clipboard, still looking confused. Douglas reached for a pen in his breast pocket and started to write. Martin tried to see what he was writing, but the angle was wrong for him to decipher Douglas' handwriting.

When he was done, Douglas held out the clipboard to Arthur. “Read this, Arthur. No, wait. The Pilot Says: Arthur, read this.”

Arthur read the few lines, which took longer than it should have for someone his age. Then he looked at Douglas. “Done.”

“Good.”

“Do you want me to answer these questions, Douglas?”

“No, these questions are not for you, but for our passengers. The Pilot Says: Arthur, as soon as we've landed, ask our passengers these questions and write down their answers. Then bring the clipboard directly back to me.”

“Right-o.”

“And that will help us how?” Martin inquired.

“The Faulkners will have had their say. Their complaints will have been written down by a representative of MJN Air. That should satisfy them. And I will get rid of the paper as quickly as possible.”

“You think we'll get away with that?”

“Come on, how likely is it we'll ever fly the Faulkners again? We're taking them to Nice to pick up their new yacht. We're not even flying them back to Jeddah.”

“True...” Martin replied slowly, turning the idea over in his mind a couple of times. “And you think they won't complain to Carolyn or Mr. Alyakhin anyway?”

“I fear that's a chance we'll have to take. And we should keep them away from Carolyn to maximise our chances.”

“It doesn't feel right,” Martin sighed, “but I really don't want to lose this job. So how do we keep them away from Carolyn?”

“That'll be your job. Distract her. Complain about the false alarm and the warning light or something. You're exactly the right person to involve her in a lengthy discussion about the desolate state G-ERTY is in.”

“I'm not sure if that's a compliment.”

“No, neither am I.”

~ * ~ * ~

“Post-landing checks complete in record time, Captain. Time for your special task,” Douglas stated.

Martin unstrapped himself. “Right.”

“You've got your story ready?”

“It's not a difficult task to come up with things wrong with the plane.”

“Sad but true.”

Martin climbed out of his seat and reached to open the flight-deck-door just when it swung open to reveal Arthur.

“Oh God, is she here already?” Worry swung in Martin's voice.

“What, mom? No, not yet.”

“That's a relief.”

“She will be any moment, though. I saw her walking towards us.”

The pitch of Martin's voice rose. “Let me through!”

“What about our passengers?”

“Ooh, they know some brilliant words! You should have heard Mr Faulkner swear, Douglas!” Arthur sounded way more enthusiastic than he should, considering the words that had just been thrown at him. He handed the clipboard to Douglas. “I wrote it all down, just like you said.”

Douglas briefly glanced at the clipboard, then threw it onto the instrument panel and climbed out of his seat. “Well done, Arthur. Now stay in the galley, do some cleaning or something, while I see our passengers off to their limousine.”

Arthur, while beaming with pride at the praise, made no move to get out of Douglas' way.

“Arthur?”

“Yup.”

“You've spent enough time on a plane to know this is the flight-deck, not the galley.”

“Absolutely.”

“Then why are you still standing here?”

“You didn't say 'The Pil...”

Douglas had forgotten about the game over his plotting and scheming how to get out of the situation, but, quick-witted as always, he interjected: “The Pilot Says: The game is over, you won and now just do what I asked you to do.”

“Aww. But also – yay, I won!”

“You did. Now will you let me past?”

“Certainly.” Arthur retreated to the galley to let Douglas walk through to the cabin.

~ * ~ * ~

“Martin, does this have to be now? I want to see our passengers off personally.”

“You weren't even supposed to be here, and Douglas is looking after them. And this can't wait. How many failing parts on your plane does it take to get your attention?! Do we need to fall out of the sky first?”

“Martin, you're exaggerating.” She sighed. “But just so you'll shut up, let's go to the flight-deck and you'll show me what worries you so I can ignore it.”

Martin opened his mouth to complain, but then thought better of it. It would mean getting Carolyn out of the way, and he could already see Douglas and the Faulkners leaving the plane. “You know it's not only parts in the flight-deck that are causing problems, but it's a start.”

“Yes, yes. Come on then, let's go.”

Douglas saw them approach and managed to hurry the Faulkners to their waiting limousine, out of Carolyn's way. Martin hurried ahead, hoping it would help to prevent their boss from trying to talk to their passengers.

“Not even an hour into our flight, the warning light for the hydraulic system came on,” Martin elaborated as they entered the flight-deck.

“Yes, so you said. And it was just a false alarm. The system was fine!”

“This time, but what if we keep getting these alarms and stop responding at some point because we think it's just another false alarm but then it's real and...”

“Martin. Stop right there. Think about what you just said. _You_ are never going to ignore a warning light. Douglas, yes, I can see that happening. But not you.”

“What if he flies alone?”

But Carolyn had strode past him and was studying something else than the instruments – the clipboard Douglas had left on top of the panel. “What's this?” She picked it up and started to read. When she turned around she seemed suspiciously calm.

“Erythrophobia?”

Martin swallowed drily. “It's the fear...”

“Of the colour red.”

“You actually knew the term?”

“I can read.” She tapped the clipboard. “Whose idea was this?”

“Mine,” Douglas stated, standing in the door behind Martin.

“Yes, I thought it was.”

“Of course you did. My handwriting must have been quite the give-away.”

“That, too.”

“I'm sorry Carolyn, but no one had told us about Mrs Faulkner's odd phobia! We had no chance of knowing, there was nothing in the manifest.” Martin sounded desperate.

“No, there wasn't.”

“I take it you didn't know about it, either?” Douglas queried.

“No, it must have slipped Mr. Alyakhin's mind to provide that information.”

“Would he even have known?”

“These people are buying a yacht off him, presumably one with as little red on it as possible. Yes, Martin, I'm quite certain he knows,” Douglas stated.

“So clearly it's his fault.” Carolyn still sounded calm.

“But he won't see it that way,” Martin moaned, already picturing himself out of his job.

“Quite possibly not. But you let Arthur ask them these questions why, Douglas?”

“Because now they've had their say and won't need to unload their anger in Mr. Alyakhin's face,” Douglas replied. “I thought it would seem rather professional to give them a chance to take part in our passenger survey.”

“So you quickly created one. And what were you planning to do with this?”

“As I don't think they will ever be flying with us again, I thought – the next waste bin?”

“Yes, that seems like the right place for it.”

Martin had been looking from one of them to the other. “You, you're not mad at us?”

“ _Of course_ I am mad at you. You were trying to do this behind my back!”

“Well, only stalling for time, really. I'm sure Arthur would have blabbed about it sooner or later.”

“Hey, I heard that!” Arthur complained from somewhere behind Douglas. “But, we can keep flying now? Mr. Alyakhin won't stop sending us passengers and everything's fine?”

“As long as Douglas' plan works, yes, Arthur, my dear, we can keep flying.”

“Then everything's fine. Douglas' plans always work.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sure Martin would know some standard operational procedures that I don't. But it all worked out without them, didn't it?


End file.
